


Hello Darkness, my old friend

by Stulot



Category: Emmerdale, robron
Genre: Heartache, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 11:15:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10097447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stulot/pseuds/Stulot
Summary: Aaron's in prison, and Robert hates the quiet and lonely nights without him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure what this is, more thoughts than a proper story...just had to write them down.  
> Funnily enough, I had written it all before the spoiler about Robert sleeping on the sofa came out, so I kinda had to add that line in there :)

It's the nights that are the worse. 

They've always been good to him. Before. Evenings of drinks and charm. Followed by warm, naked bodies, hidden in darkness. He learned quickly how easy it was to get away with empty promises.

Then. Another kind of warmth. Solid. Fragile truths and a want to be the best version of himself. Different. Soft whispers that have felt more like home than anything ever has.

Now, he's grown to hate them. It only took one night. Hates the dark and everything that goes with it. 

The way the clatter from the pub no longer seeps into their room. How Liv's music stops spilling past the threshold. When even Charity's laughter, sarcastic more often than not, no longer is heard.

When all is quiet. Turned into an echoing space. Digs its way through him, carving at the hollow.

When Vic stops distracting him with her worrying, as annoying as it is, or Adam isn't there with his attempts of a joke. Or Paddy. Stuttering nervously as they try to form some kind of relationship that isn't based on disdain but rather their mutual love for the man they call son and husband. When Chas isn't there to discuss the appeal with. Or when he doesn't even have Liv to comfort. She sneaked into their bed a couple of nights. Not any more. 

When darkness cloaks the house, all of it halts, takes a pause that's equally needed and unwanted. Left by himself, he's in a bed that's too big and uncomfortable to sleep alone in. The sofa works better sometimes. 

The thoughts never fail to come, unforgiving in their path, resilient against his attempts to stop them. 

That's when the pressure across his chest worsens, as if the faint seam from his scar is ready to burst open at any second. When he finally feels the pain in his throat from tears he won't allow himself to shed during the day. Won't allow anyone to see. And it all becomes too much and he's unable to be strong any more. Not here, with a gaping void next to him where Aaron's body should be.

He cries then. There's no escape from it. No matter how hard he tries distracting himself with thoughts that aren't all about Aaron.

He moves closer to Aaron's side, presses his face into his pillow and curls around one of his hoodies. Neither smells like him any more.

The nights after a visit are the worst ones. When he's seen a new bruise across his husband's cheek or a cut lip. When his eyes are empty. Or worse, when the smile he puts on never reaches his eyes well enough to convince him that he's fine, even if he's adamant about it.

The helplessness he feels rips him apart during those nights. Until he chokes on his own tears and muted screams. Thinking, all he wants to do is wrap Aaron in his arms, hold him tight and protect, protect, protect. Never let go. Let him lean on him like he's leaned so many times before.

In reality, in the visiting room filled with testosterone and a tense atmosphere, where one tiny slip might put another bruise on Aaron's face, he cannot even give him a glance filled with all the love he wants, in fear that someone might catch them. He cannot let his eyes sparkle the way they begs him to. Cannot even reach out a finger to brush along Aaron's skin. Isn't allowed to hug him or even smile too wide.

It was laced with a lot of self-hate but he's suppressed his feelings for Aaron before, he can do it again he fools himself with. Pushed down deep, his cold and bastard of a side is still there. All he needs to do is bring it up to the surface again.

But the sheer thought of it hurts. Aaron is so much more now. Deserves better. Someone who it's impossible to suppress anything for.

He's his husband.

The word is still raw and new against his lips. Sacred and special.

His wonderful, beautiful, kind husband. 'Soft' he can hear Aaron call him. He doesn't care.

He's never felt as proud before.

He stares into darkness, a sliver of moonlight hitting the wall. A stream of light. Hope perhaps. He twists his ring. Over and over again. Remembers.

How nervous he'd been. Bread - all his favourites. The car. Then the fear. And water. But later, their perfect imperfect day. The garage. Two cups of coffee. The backseat of a car. Careful, eager hands.

They're jumbled, the memories. Some vaguer than he wants them to be.

All Aaron of course... He's not as lucky. Most of the time he wishes he could think of something else. Then he's sick with regret. Because even if they tear him apart, memories is what keeps him going.

He twists the ring faster. Tries to refocus. The ring, the ring, the ring.

Knowing Aaron had to take his off makes it worse. The reasons why makes it worse. Aaron's apologetic smile as he'd discovered it. As if he had something to be sorry for.

He cries harder. Pushes them - thoughts and tears -back the best he can - doesn't want anyone to hear him. That's only a level of comfort he's ever had with Aaron. Weakness.

He cannot be himself without Aaron. Not really. Not the way he wants. Can't let that side out. Won't allow himself. He's already hardened some, he's sure. It's written in Liv's eyes.

But not with Aaron. Never with Aaron. He allows him to be. Him. Just him. A little fragile, a little lost. Lets him nuzzle his head into his neck while he holds him tight and tells him he doesn't need to be so strong all the time.

That's what he misses the most. Aaron's body next to his. Warm and soft. Pushing close to him, his head resting on his chest, an arm around his waist. His arm against his back, eliciting goosebumps from his skin.

Kissing him goodnight.

Kissing him good morning.

Tired grunts. Rumbling stomachs. Sweet smell of sweat. Soft hair. A thick thigh to wrap his leg around.

Lazy mornings. Never wanting to get up; both of them occupied on their phones or kissing languidly. Fingers that stay knitted. Until someone needs to pee.

Exploring hands. Playfully kissing up his arm. Scratching his jaw against his beard.

All the small things. Insignificant when they happen. But more important than anything else.

Tomorrow's another day. One day closer until getting Aaron home. Until he can hold him.

But for now, he cries.


End file.
